Simulation
by htebazytook
Summary: Some vague crossoverness. Also, I fear this will only really make sense to some people. However, I know said people are out there, darn it.


Title: Simulation   
Rating: PG-13 (for dangerously cheesy pick-up lines)  
Disclaimer: --

Author's Notes: Some vague crossoverness. Also, I fear this will only really make sense to some people. However, I know said people are out there, darn it.

Adam had never dreamed that murder would be so easy.

True, he hadn't paid Pepper enough attention, and she did tend to forget to eat. Brian was bound to kill himself in a spectacular way, but really should've known better than to dive into a pool with no ladder out. The aliens, however, had taken Adam completely by surprise, even considering their place in his heart. _That_ had thrown him through a loop, although where spending long hours peering through a telescope really got you hadn't.(1) Poor Wensleydale. Adam placed his gravestone in the backyard cemetery.

"DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH, OR SOMETHING?"

Adam grinned at the hooded, scythe-equipped figure on the computer screen. "You could say that," he said. "Do you really have a purple cell phone?"

"NO," said Death. "BUT I'VE ALWAYS BEEN INTRIGUED. THIS SEEMED AS GOOD A PLACE AS ANY TO LET LOOSE."

"Hey, next time? I'll have them make curry for you before they kick it."

"THAT'S NOT AN OPTION IN THE GAME."

"So?"

"I DIDN'T SAY I DISAPPROVED," said Death. "BUT YOU SHOULD TRY TO SHOW A LITTLE RESTRAINT."

"It's as good a place as any to let loose," Adam reflected, swiveling around in the computer chair.

"JUST DON'T TAKE IT TOO FAR. YOU FORGET YOUR STRENGTH, ADAM. AND NOW, IF YOU'LL EXCUSE ME, I HAVE TO ORGANISE A LUAU FOR THE ONE PERSON IN THIS NEIGHBOURHOOD WHO MADE IT INTO RETIREMENT."

"Oh, don't worry about Mr. Tyler—I'm going to put the no aging cheat on him. I don't _really_ want him to die."

Death sighed like a castle creaking in a hurricane. "NO MESSING PEOPLE ABOUT," he warned, and vanished.

_This_ game did not come easily to Adam, for once. It was a bit worrying, considering he had kept watch over all involved in the Apocalypse and charged himself with ensuring nothing bad (that is to say, divine-bad or diabolic-bad) happened to them. He sighed and shuffled through his cluttered computer desk for the manual. Fifteen minutes and a visit to a site with more cheat codes (and some cheats on his part when he became impatient for _The_ _Sims_ _2_ to load) later, he was in the game again.

But as he was selecting glasses for his new Wensleydale, Death's WORDS came back to him. Adam didn't think he was delving too deeply into the lives of others—he mostly just kept track of them. If anything, the game let him relieve himself of any untoward impulses. Still, it was worrying. Usually when Death talked to him, there was a reason for it. A pair of sunglasses flashed at him through the screen. Hmm . . .

Soon after that he had two entirely new Sims in the neighbourhood. But despite being Sims, Crowley and Aziraphale acted remarkably like themselves, as far as Adam could tell. He _had_ kept a close eye on them especially.

It interested him that the Social Bunny had haunted both of them, although Crowley tended to argue with it, or, inexplicably, threaten it with a plant mister, which didn't technically exist in the virtual world. Aziraphale merely ignored it and read a lot.(2)

They didn't eat much, and their Hunger levels never changed. They disliked water. And neither were inclined toward telescopes. Yes, the angel and demon were definitely Adam's kind of Sims. He sat back and watched.

He had never _really_ _watched_ them together, before. Something occurred to him.

Adam may have been crap at caring for Sims, but he was definitely adept at understanding people. He tried the sort of action that could only be done because he'd made Crowley outgoing. Interesting. He tired another one—_very_ interesting—and let the scene unfold in Crowley's flat, wondering about the strength of his influence.

-----

1. Adam only viewed star fields as entertainment when accompanied by a fanfare and a scrawl.

2. Adam had come to realise that Aziraphale was less than thrilled with the new bookshop he'd given him, and occasionally sent him the sort of old dusty things the angel seemed to prefer. His parents never seemed to miss any of it.

-----

In Crowley's real flat, Crowley was beginning to get angry enough to kick lawn flamingos. He frowned at the impulse—he certainly didn't own any lawn flamingos. He shook his head.

The demon had made the mistake of letting Aziraphale have free reign over his _Sims 2_ game, and the angel was becoming rapidly obsessed. Who knew what he'd do to Crowley's painstakingly constructed families?

Crowley was on the verge of stealing one of Aziraphale's garden gnomes, which _he_ _did_ have.

"Oh, Crowley, come look—I finally got Dante to apologise to all of his friends!" Crowley's neighbourhoods contained many people he'd known, and a great many that he'd hated and inflicted plentiful game-tortures upon. He kept the angels he didn't care for in a neighbourhood all to themselves where they became involved in elaborate scandals. Crowley and the plants all snickered at them.

"Good job." Crowley was surprised to taste no sarcasm in his mouth. To compensate, he joked, "Now all you have to do is get him to stop condemning them in everything he writes."

"Thank you. It really is a very nice game." Aziraphale had been wary at first, playing God and all that, but it was vastly addictive, and what was the harm, really?

"You're really very nice too, Aziraphale." _Huh?_

"And I rather admire you." Aziraphale frowned at himself. "Well, I _should_ say, 'I despise you', I suppose, because that's a compliment to a demon, isn't it?"

"Eh, not to me, but most demons, yeah." Crowley was cooler than most demons, he liked to think. _Why are we talking about this?_ "What's your job?"

Aziraphale blinked at him. "You know very well what my job is, my dear," he said slowly.

"Oh, right. Uh—what are your interests?"

". . . Crowley?"

"Oh, here, I know—do you like what you see?"

Aziraphale, poised to say 'Excuse me?!' in an a panicked sort of way, found himself distracted by lightning bolts swimming in his vision. Instead, he said, "Say, would you fancy a backrub? Um."

But Crowley flinched when Aziraphale tried it. He pushed his sunglasses up his nose huffily. "Not in particular, angel," he said, sounding rather more like his old self.

"All right," said Aziraphale, cautiously relieved. But then the demon ruined it.

"I lost my soul, can I have yours? Ack."

"Did it hurt when you fell from heaven? Oh, ow, that smarts. Terribly sorry."

"Never mind. This isn't working."

"Oh." Getting impatient, Aziraphale attempted a friendly hug.

"Augh!" Crowley slithered out of his arms. "_Angel_."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. He captured the demon's hands and swung their arms back and forth together. Crowley didn't seem as adverse to this. "Do calm down, my dear."

"Okay, okay." He collected himself. Aziraphale was right. Then, with the greatest dignity, the demon slid to the floor and began to serenade his counterpart, one hand over his heart and the other gesturing madly, like some painfully amateur actor at the theatre.

"You're the best friend that I ever had," Crowley sang, horribly and off-key, "I've been with you such a long time. You're my sunshine and I want you to know that my feelings are true, I really love you. You're my best friend. Ooh, you make me live . . ." He smiled up at the angel encouragingly. _Shut_. _Up_. _Shut_. _Up_, went his internal monologue.

Aziraphale cringed. He pulled Crowley to his feet.

"Um, not that I have any choice," said the demon. "About living, I mean. It makes no sense really—"

"Mhmm. Be quiet, Crowley."

And then Crowley's mind was boggled by harp arpeggios, heart bubbles, and, last but really, really not least, Aziraphale kissing him—ah—_thoroughly_.

And there was only one thing to say to that, really.

"I refuse to believe that was your first kiss."

"First one with you, anyway." Aziraphale gone all starry eyed was making Crowley short-circuit.

Crowley goosed him.

"Crowely!" But the angel didn't seem terribly put out because seconds later he was kissing him again.

"Woohoo," Crowley murmured when they parted, very close.

-----

Adam decided that, just this once, his meddling was justified. It was getting utterly ridiculous with those two. He wondered if killing off Sims would give him another chance to talk to Death. He always enjoyed their chats. But he was afraid of what would happen if he killed Crowley or Aziraphale off in the game—

"DON'T WORRY ABOUT THAT. I ALWAYS WAVE THEM THROUGH."

"What, like at a tollbooth?"

"SORT OF," said the lei-clad Death. "NOW, WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN UP TO, APART FROM MATCHMAKING?"

"The usual. Studying, sleeping, eating, forgetting my keys, furthering the cause of world peace. Oh, and laundry, of course. That sort of thing."

"GO ON."

-----


End file.
